


A Knight's Tale

by HicSuntDracones



Series: I Turn My Favorite Movies Kinda Gay [1]
Category: A Knight's Tale (2001), Merlin (TV)
Genre: A smidge of crack, Alternate Universe - Fusion, And Everyone Else Here Not Sitting On A Cushion!, Arthur Pendragon is a Romantic Bitch, Arthur is a Prat, Awesome Morgana (Merlin), BAMF Gwen (Merlin), Blacksmith Gwen, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Gwen/Morgana, Established Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen is a BAMF, Gwen is an Angel, Humor, I Did Mention Jousting Right?, Idiots in Love, If you've seen the movie, Inspired by A Knight's Tale (2001), Jousting, Lancelot is the Best, Light Angst, M/M, Meddling, Medieval Scam Artists, Merlin and Lancelot are Best Friends, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin is a Tournament Fanboy, My Ladies, My Lords, Swordfighting, The Author Regrets Nothing, The author cannot tag, They don't judge each other, They judge other people together, This is Only Mildly his Fault, Tournaments, Women Being Awesome, You understand the tone, but he improves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HicSuntDracones/pseuds/HicSuntDracones
Summary: After their knight-master dies, squires Lancelot, Merlin, and Will seem to be in for some hard times; at least until Lancelot decides to don the armor and win tournaments for himself using a fake name. Merlin and Will assist with the mad scheme, helping Lancelot pass as a knight, but the task gets more complicated as blacksmithing ladies maids, drunken knights, and prattish princes get involved. Throw in a plot against the throne of Camelot, hidden magic, and newfound romance; life just got a whole lot more complicated.Based on A Knight's Tale(2001), with a few twists of my own.





	1. In Which Sir Rodney Eats It, A Scheme Is Hatched, and No One Listens to Will(as usual)

**Author's Note:**

> This story could alternatively be titled:  
A Knight’s Tale, or How Lancelot Proved His Worth, Guinevere Earned Her Freedom, Morgana Came Into Her Own, Arthur Became Less of a Prat, Merlin Learns Why Meddling Is Bad(mostly), and Where Gwaine and Will Learn Absolutely Nothing
> 
> This is gonna be fun.

"He's dead." Merlin says, stepping away from the body of Sir Rodney where it lay beneath a tree.

"Dead?" Lancelot raises his eyebrows.

"Dead."

"Dead! He can't be dead!"

"Look for yourself Will, he's gone. Knew the drink would do him in eventually."

"No, no, no! He can't be dead, he was one lance away from winning the tournament and I haven't eaten in three days!"

"None of us have eaten, William."

"Don't 'William' me Lance, you watch, he's not dead, just sleeping!” Will marches over and proceeds to kick the corpse. “Wake up you lout! Tournament’s almost over, Sire! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, gods damn you, I want to eat!” Each sentence is punctuated with a kick and a clang as it connects with Sir Rodney’s armor.   
Lancelot and Merlin watch with surprising calmness as Will takes his anger out on a corpse. 

“I could ride in his place,” Lancelot offers suddenly. 

“What?”

“We only need one lance-point to win the match, I can ride well enough for that.”

“You want to put on his armor and win the match?”

“I know it’s a bit of a long shot-”

“Excuse me?” A voice behind them startles the trio, and Will pauses mid-kick. A servant in the official tournament uniform stands before them, silently observing the poor state of Sir Rodney’s campsite. Unfortunately, the man had been a cheapskate who did not believe that servants needed tents. “Will you,” the servant coughs here, “gentlemen inform your master that his final match is about to begin?” The man cranes his neck to see where Sir Rodney is propped against the tree, Will having resumed his kicking.

Merlin hurriedly steps in front of the scene. “He’ll be along in a minute.” He gives his best smile, and the servant sniffs before leaving for the tournament grounds. Merlin and Lancelot share a look, mutually reaching a decision. 

“Help me put the armor on.” Lancelot shoves Will aside and begins stripping the armor off of Sir Rodney’s remains. 

“What’re you doing?” Will demands.

“Lance is going to ride for Sir Rodney,” Merlin replies as if this is an everyday occurance, strapping Lance into the armor.

“You’re mad!”

“Yes.”

“No!” Lance protests.

“We might be mad, but do you want dinner?”

“Only a noble knight can compete! Squires don’t ride in jousts, and certainly not peasant squires!”

“Sometimes you have to bend the rules a little.”

“Really, Lance? I thought you had a code of honor?”

“What about this isn’t honorable? We’re defending a man’s honor, letting his memory live on as a champion, feeding ourselves-” 

“You’re wearing a dead man’s armor and he’s not even cold yet! Besides, someone will notice that you’re not Sir Rodney!”

“That’s what the helmet’s for,” Merlin interrupts, shoving it onto Lancelot’s head. “Are you going to help us or not?”

Will grumbles, giving the corpse a final kick for good measure. “You’re bastards, the lot of you.”

“Good, now where’s his boots gotten to?”  
\-----------  
Music blasts from the arena as Lancelot rides in, disguised in Sir Rodney’s armor. While only a small tournament on an Earl’s land, the arena is still huge, a furlong long and half that wide. Hundreds of spectators are arranged on wooden benches under colored flags, singing fight songs for their favorite champions. Sir Rodney’s name is notably absent. Lancelot tries to not let this bother him, adjusting his grip on the lance.

“Ok, we’re winning by two lances, only need one more to win. Stay on the horse and we’re set.” Merlin is fidgeting, simultaneously nervously messing with the reins and excitedly observing the competition. “You’re going against Borden, he doesn’t have much in the way of technique, but he makes up for it with brute force. So you’ve just got to aim better, don’t go for the lower inside, he’s too heavy to be unseated that way-”

“I know how jousting works Merlin.” Lancelot really should be used to Merlin’s tournament excitement by now. The man knew everything about the competitors, down to preferred attack method and color of their standards. Sometimes this was helpful and endearing. Other times it was vaguely maddening.

“Oi! Put the visor down you madman!” Will slaps the metal helmet flap closed. “We’re trying to not get caught here, it’s bad enough Merls had to use magic to make the armor and boots fit, let’s not get arrested before we get our money.”

“It still doesn’t fit,” Lancelot mumbles.

“I’m doing my best here, you worry warts!”

“Hush both of you.”

Merlin, as usual, doesn’t listen. “You sure you’re going to be able to do this?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.” Lancelot adjusts his armor a final time, staring at his opponent across the arena. Will considers this response.

“You know, just because you’ve been waiting for something doesn’t mean it’s going to turn out well.”  
Any response of Lancelot’s is prevented by the horns blowing, signaling the start of the round. The announcer finishes his speech. A nod is directed towards the poor chump in the middle of the field whose job it is to wave the starting flag, and the flag goes down, poor chump sprinting out of the way. Lancelot nudges his horse forward as Merlin and Will jump out of the way. 

They watch as the two riders race towards each other, lowering their lances. The actual competition was the only part of the ruse they weren’t worried about. Lancelot was actually quite good at jousting and sword fighting and other knightly activities. He’d wanted to be a knight since he was a child, and had trained himself accordingly. Unfortunately, not being of noble birth, the closest he could get to being a knight was squiring for someone like Sir Rodney.

But now Lancelot was able to show off his skills as he aimed his lance toward the center of his opponent’s shield. He stares down the knight, not even averting his gaze as the two collide, sending an explosion of lance splinters into the air. The lance aimed at Lancelot’s shield skids off, knocking into his helmet and denting it, but he stubbornly remains upright and shoves his lance into his opponent’s shield. His aim is true, and the other man goes flying off the horse amid the cheers of the audience.

Lancelot slows the horse as he approaches the other end of the arena “Alright!” “Yeah!” Merlin and Will whoop as they race over to Lancelot, Will yanking off Merlin’s neckerchief and waving it around like a flag.

“Hey, give that back!”

“I’m celebrating, leave me alone! We’re going to eat! Nice job Lance!” He slaps Lancelot’s leg, earning a muffled protest through the dented helmet. “What?” Will asks.

“Mmmmff!” Lancelot attempts to lift the visor up, but to no avail. 

“See, that’s not helpful-”

“He’s stuck, you cabbage head.” Merlin snatches his scarf back. “We can get him out later. Actually,” Merlin knocks on the helmet, earning another indignant unintelligible response. “Oh, sorry Lance! But this does solve another problem.”

\------------  
Twenty minutes later, the tournament champions present themselves in front of the Earl of Leich to receive their prizes. Merlin stands beside Lancelot, still in the dented helmet, and Will watches from the sidelines, praying that this final part of the plan will hold up.

“...and for mastery of the lance and excellency in the jousting tournament, I am proud to present the grand prize to Sir Rodney of Beckingshire, a credit to his family’s name. Sir, please receive your prize.” Lancelot silently steps forward to accept a finely crafted golden feather from the Earl. The crowd waits. “You will not remove your helmet, Sir Rodney? Will you not respect the ladies present, or grace the audience with some words of victory?” 

Merlin steps forward. “With all respect Earl, your Earlship-” Will sinks his face into his hands. “You will find that Sir Rodney cannot remove his helmet. The final pass damaged it, and he’s quite stuck. Can’t say a word either, can you Sir Rodney?” Lancelot shakes his head carefully.

“Well then, best of luck getting unstuck,” The earl says quietly before raising his voice once more. “This concludes the tournament! May victory follow you wherever you go!”

\-------------  
“Score!” Will shouts from the campsite as Merlin returns from the merchant, hands full of silver coins. “How much did you get for the feather?”

“Fifteen silvers, five for each of us-you haven’t managed to unstick him yet?” 

“Mmmmf!” Lancelot is still trapped beneath the helmet, despite Will’s best efforts. While Will examines the coins, Merlin casts his gaze around to make sure no one is watching them. Then he snaps his fingers. His eyes glow gold as the metal of the helmet miraculously smooths itself out, and fade back to blue as Lancelot finally yanks the helmet off, gasping. 

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath, tucking the helmet under his arm. “But next time, can you fix the helmet before you go to the merchants? I’ve been suffocating, and unable to tell Will to shut up.”

“Oi!”

“What do you mean, next time?” Merlin asks cautiously.

“I mean,”a light enters Lancelot’s eyes as he begins speaking enthusiastically. “Why stop at one match and fifteen silvers?” He snatches the coins from Will’s hands amid protest. “I won a match against a knight, who says I can’t win again? We have fifteen silvers, that’s one for each of you-” he tosses them each a coin- “and thirteen for training! I can enter tournaments, compete as a knight, keep all of us in coin-”

“Lance, look, I know you want to be a knight, but faking it and putting us all at risk of getting arrested is not the way to go.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, Will has a point. Our best chance is finding someone else to squire for and hope we get paid this time.”

“Don’t either of you want to at least try? Would you rather be squires for the rest of your life, or be free men with coin in your pockets and deeds to your name? We can pull this off, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think we could! Will, you can eat a king’s feast every night with your share of the tournament winnings. Merlin, you can use your magic freely around us, you don’t have to hide it like you did with Sir Rodney!” 

“That’s-actually I quite like that idea.” Lancelot nods. He’s got Merlin on board.

“Am I the only one with any sense here?” The only remaining issue is Will.

“No, you have no sense either.”

“Thanks a lot, Lance.”

“This isn’t actually a terrible idea,” Merlin ventures. “I can repair the broken lances, save us some money, Lance is good at swordplay too, not just jousting, and we still have Rodney’s horse. Besides, we know Lance’ll win, he’s really good-” 

“I’m surrounded by idiots. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to my mother, ‘Stick with Merlin,’ she said. ‘Boy’s got a good head on his shoulders’. What did she know! Now you’re trying to rope me into another scheme-” 

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea, it was Lancelot’s-”

“But you’re contributing!”

“It’s a good idea! There’s a tournament in Fenhallow in a month, we can train until then and Lance can enter.”

“We can make this work, William. We’ll enter a few tournaments, win enough to be comfortable for a while, and actually do something for once in our lives! Wouldn’t you rather have some stories to tell once we go back to squiring? We have an opportunity here, I don’t want to waste it. Please,” he adds. 

“I told you don’t ‘William’ me, Lance.” Will sighs, looking between his two deranged friends. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No.” They answer simultaneously.

“Fine.” Lancelot visibly brightens at the agreement. “But-” Will raises a finger, “I guarantee we’re going to get in trouble somehow, and I expect you both to admit I was right when this whole thing goes sour.”

“It won’t Will, I promise.” Merlin hugs him, smiling like anything.

“Alright then,” Lancelot announces, “ Let’s get to work!”


	2. In Which Our Favorite Drunkard Is Introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to @a-li-as if they're reading it, for providing the excellent comment of "Really, there's only one place they would find Gwaine, and that place is a ditch" So true

Thirteen silvers turn out to be enough to buy training equipment, clothes nice enough to make it plausible that Lancelot was actually a knight, and enough food to shut Will up for a little while. Armed with full bellies and newfound confidence, Merlin and Will took it upon themselves to be Lancelot's training masters. Really, they served more as training dummies, but Lancelot decided not to mention this. 

For three weeks they camped in a forest clearing, training in sword work and jousting skills and daily praying that they would actually be able to pull this mad scheme off. Lancelot could easily beat Will and Merlin in sword contests, even when Merlin cheated with his magic. The problem was jousting. The armor Lancelot was using had not been made for him, but for Sir Rodney, a considerably larger man. It was uncomfortable and loose in several places it shouldn't have been, and really the only thing they could do was tighten the buckles as much as possible and try not to get hit in the wrong place. Beggars and scam artists couldn't be choosers.

Too quickly the day came where they had to depart for Fenhallow, packing their meager possessions onto Sir Rodney's old horse and setting out.

"You think you're ready?" Merlin asked once they were underway.

"If I'm not ready now, I will never be."

"If you're so ready, can you take a turn walking? My feet are killing me." Will grumbles, more than a bit peeved that Lancelot gets to ride the horse.

"William-"

"I told you, don't William me-"

"I have to ride the horse, if someone comes along, they'll wonder why the knight is walking while his servant rides. Once we get some money, we'll all ride horses."

"But no one's around just now, give me a turn!"

"There's someone," Merlin points to the side of the road ahead.

"Real funny Merlin, now help me get his lordship off the damn horse."

"No, there really is someone, look."

They look, and to Will's great surprise, there are two legs by the side of the road, maybe fifty paces away. As the party draws closer, they can see a body attached to the legs, lying upside down in a ditch; the body was nude and definitely male. 

"D'ya think he's dead?" Will cocks his head.

"I don't know. Merlin, go look." Lancelot makes no move to get off the horse.

"Since when did I become the general dogsbody?"

"Since you go along with everything we say, now go look," Will pushes his friend towards the possible corpse.

Merlin goes, muttering about 'awful friends' and 'he's just polite, not a doormat thank you very much' and 'he could be rude if he wanted to, just watch'. He nudges the body with his foot. There's no response. "He smells of drink," he calls back. "I think we have another Sir Rodney on our hands." Just to be sure, he crouches down and gently slaps the man's face. No response. "I think he's-"

"Oi! Oh, hello there handsome"

"Ah!" Merlin springs back, falling on his bum. "Never mind! He's alive, very alive!"

Lance dismounts and helps Merlin to his feet as the previously unconscious man stands, stretching luxuriously and forcing the trio to avert their eyes. "And who are you?" Lance asks, eyes carefully fixed on a nearby tree.

The man just smiles, perfectly at ease despite the tangible air of awkwardness. He sticks out a hand, "Gwaine Green at your service." Merlin tentatively shakes hands with him, Will and Lance refuse. This doesn't seem to phase Gwaine, his smile never fading. "You've probably heard of me."

"Sorry, no," Will says flatly. "Should we have?"

"Of course! I'm Gwaine Green, Guard and Bard for hire! Don't tell me you haven't heard of my adventures and songs!" He is met only with blank stares. "Well that's disappointing," he stares at the ground for a moment but seems to recover quickly. "Got any clothes I can borrow?"

"Why are you in a ditch?" Lancelot asks the question everyone is thinking.

"And nude," Merlin adds. 

"Now that's a story. Let's just say when you attempt to take on a bodyguard job, a singing gig, and a particularly lovely barmaid from Greenhaven all in one night, someone will get angry. Especially if the barmaid in question is engaged to the fellow you're supposed to be guarding and neither appreciate the flattering song written in her honor."

"So they stole your clothes?" Will asks incredulously.

"Oh, no. They ran me out of town. I also got robbed last night, which is what happens when you're by yourself and decide to have a bit of a drink to drown your sorrows." Gwaine is still grinning, seemingly unfazed by this turn of events. Merlin wonders just how many times something like this has happened. "So, where you lot headed?"

"Fenhallow," Lancelot replies, "I will be competing in the tournament there in two days."

"So you're a knight then, eh?" He looks Lancelot up and down. "You don't look like one."

"Well-"

Gwaine ignores him and continues, " You know they require papers of nobility to register for any event at Fenhallow. Want to make sure they're getting only the noblest of knights to compete."

The trio exchange looks that essentially mean 'Well, we're fucked.' Then Will voices it, "Well, we're fucked."

Gwaine persists, sensing an opportunity. "You're not necessarily on the receiving end, my friend-"

"I'm not your friend-"

"Among my many talents, not including those skills in the bedroom, is the skill of forgery."

"You can make Lancelot papers of nobility?" Merlin gets straight to the point, steadfastly ignoring Gwaine's other comment.

"Get me some clothes and we have a deal."

"And you can actually make these documents?" Lancelot seems doubtful.

"What about the seal?" Will interrupts. "Papers of nobility are marked with the king's own seal, how will you copy that. I don't think a tosser like you has Uther Pendragon's ring."

"That'd be a no, but I do have a copy."

"Do we want to know where?" Merlin asks nervously, very aware that Gwaine has limited hiding places at his disposal while nude. 

"Fear not, just give me a moment." Gwaine proceeds to stick two fingers down his throat, coughing and gagging for a solid half-minute before something falls into his waiting hand. A ring. "A rather good copy too," he brags as he wipes his mouth. "Got it from a jeweler in Camelot."

"You swallowed it?!" Merlin practically squawks.

"This cost me a good bit of money! And I had to sleep with the man to get this, and he was an ugly bugger too. I'm not losing it that easily."

"You're mad." Will shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, I don't see any other options," Lancelot admits grudgingly.

"By the gods Lance, I hate it when you're right." Will stomps away and kicks a tree.

"I'll grab you some clothes," Merlin offers, heading back to the horse. "We don't have any paper though, we'll have to wait 'till the next town to get some."

"No problem at all," Gwaine says cheerfully, smiling rakishly at Lancelot, who remains straight-faced. A few paces away, Will continues to kick the tree, swearing profusely.

\-------------

By that night, Gwaine is clothed, the paper has been obtained, and their camp has been made. A not-at-all-magically-enhanced fire burns brightly as Gwaine commences his forgery. The trio is grudgingly impressed as they watch the man create a professional-looking document from memory. Gwaine melts a candle for wax, carefully pressing the ring into it to recreate the king's seal and finish the job. 

"There, finished." Lancelot steps away from the documents quickly. The blatant lie they will be telling with these papers goes a bit beyond the level of deceit he's comfortable with. Merlin follows as he sinks down beside the horse.

"Lance, I know this bothers you-"

"Merlin, not now-"

"Listen, I know this isn't the noblest thing, but really this is just getting your foot in the door. Once you're in the tournaments, it's not about documents, it's about your skill, and you've got more of that then five noble knights put together. It's better to get a foot in the door by lying a little than getting a door in the face by telling the truth, isn't it?"

"It still doesn't feel right."

"None of this is _right_, Lance. But we need to do it. Besides, what's really not right is how you're not a knight already. You're so stupidly noble." Merlin smiles, elbowing Lancelot, who finally begins to loosen up. He returns the smile.

"Perhaps you're right."

"See, what am I always telling you lot? I'm smarter than I look."

"That's not saying much," Will calls on reflex from near the fire. "And you two'll want to come over here, we've got a problem with the papers."

"Hey! Those are flawless!" Gwaine protests.

"It's not the writing that's the problem, you lout." Will spreads out the papers. "They're too clean. If Lance actually was a noble, these papers would have been written twenty-five years ago, right after he was born. They would look a lot older. These are too new looking."

"Any chance you can help with that?" Lancelot asks Gwaine.

"Nope, sorry. If I had the tools and dye, maybe. But right now?" He shrugs his shoulders. 

"Great. Just great. How are we going to age paper twenty-five years in two days? We can't just rub dirt on it." Will groans. 

Merlin snatches the papers away, inspecting them critically and muttering broken bits of spells under his breath. "I could do it."

"Excellent!" Lancelot claps him on the back.

"I knew your special brand of buggery would come in handy someday Merls! Good man, now do it!"

"Do what?" Gwaine asks. For a moment the trio had forgotten he was there by the fire, but there he was. "What can he do to that paper that I can't?"

For a moment there's not a sound. They're going to have to say something- "Might as well tell him," Merlin concedes. "He already knows you're not a knight, it's not like he's going to turn us in."

"Merlin, are you sure about this?" Lance asks evenly.

Before Merlin can respond, Will interrupts. "I am not letting you tell him! Your mother made me swear to keep you out of trouble, make sure you stayed secret-"

"What stays secret?"

"I have magic," Merlin blurts out before anyone can stop him. He braces himself for Gwaine's reaction as Will and Lancelot move in front of him protectively. 

Gwaine doesn't even blink. "I know," he says, reclining back onto the ground.

Silence reigns for almost a whole minute until Merlin manages to get out "What? How?"

"Your eyes were glowing when you started the fire, I'm not blind. And I don't mind, just don't hex me or anything like that. Besides," he adopts a flirtatious look while everyone is still in shock. "I hear sorcerers are brilliant in bed." He winks, and just like that, everyone snaps out of it.

Merlin splutters and makes to throw a stick at Gwaine while Will laughs himself silly. 

Lancelot just sits, putting his head in his hands and sighing, contemplating the poor life choices that led to him being involved in this conversation.


	3. In Which Several Things Happen, Most of them Entertaining, and None of them Good for Lancelot’s Blood Pressure

Two days later the ragged bunch rides(and walks) into Fenhallow, a largish town only ever full during tournament season. For five months out of every year, tents, stalls, and dozens of businesses would spring up out of nowhere, all festooned with flags and charging far too much for meat pasties.

Lancelot looks down on the milling crowds from atop his horse, soaking in the sun and keeping a careful eye on Gwaine. The insanely talkative man had been only mildly chastited after the events of the other night; he continued to make wildly inappropriate comments and flirt madly with both Lancelot and Merlin. (He’d given up on Will after being socked in the face). As the days passed, it had become clear that the lower inhibitions and general lack of higher cognitive functions the trio had assumed to be the product of a hangover were actually inherent parts of Gwaine’s personality. Will wanted to kill him.

“So you see, there’s six events in most tournaments; jousting, swordplay, mace-fighting, archery, wrestling, and dagger-throwing. Everyone competes in at least one, most knights compete in two or three. Swordplay and mace fighting continue until the opponent is disarmed or unconscious, archery and dagger throwing are all about accuracy, wrestling champions are determined by who’s left standing, and jousts have three rounds where you count points. Hitting the opponent’s shield is one lance-point, shattering their lance is two, and knocking them off their horse is three, and usually wins you the match-”

“I bloody well know how tournaments work Gwaine! I’ve been squiring since I was bloody thirteen!”

“I’m just making sure you know what you’re doing! When we present the papers, we have to make them believe we’re noble servants to a knight, not farmers from whatever backwater you crawled out of-” At that moment serious bodily harm on Gwaine’s part is only avoided by Merlin grabbing Will around the waist before he can jump the other man. 

“Let me at the tosser!” Will struggles madly in Merlin’s hold.

“I thought we established the no murder rule!”

“Rules are made to be broken!”

“I was only pointing out the obvious!” Gwaine shouts from where he is cowering behind Lancelot. “Lancelot, sorry,  _ Galahad _ , is the son of a lord, they expect him to be surrounded by somewhat competent people! The knights don’t register themselves for the tournament, their servants do it for them. So you have to appear vaguely intelligent when we go to talk to them! Simple logic!”

Will almost tackles him then, but stops when Lancelot stretches out his hands in an attempt to play peacemaker. “Let’s just get on with the registration and armoring already. We’ve got a lot to do and not much time. William-”

“I’ve told you about calling me William!”

“ _ Will _ and Gwaine can go handle registration. Merlin, you come with me, we’ll set up our tent and get ready.”

“Lance, are you sure about this? If I let go of Will now, you may have a murder on your conscience.”

“I won’t actually kill him!” Will bursts out as he finally frees himself from Merlin’s grip. “Much as I hate it, we need him. I’ll go, alright? Just no one screw this up.” He points at them all in turn, “You are a magicless and slightly stupid squire, you are Sir Galahad, fifth son to Sir Eldred of Northumbria, and  _ you _ are a dead man if you even think about betraying us.”

Gwaine does not look frightened. “I would never!” He clasps a hand to his chest dramatically. “Besides, you boys are my meal ticket, and I haven’t given up on getting in our good knight’s britches yet.”

“We’re going now!” Lancelot pulls away on the horse, dragging Merlin with him. Gwaine and Leon quickly disappear into the narrow streets of the tournament town, Gwaine stealing pennants from windows for no particular reason. 

“What do you think the odds are of Will killing him and making it look like an accident?” Merlin stands a bit behind Lancelot on the horse, walking in the wake he creates through the crowd. 

“Higher than they should be.” Lancelot snaps the horse’s reins to slow her down. Following some signs, they head towards the arena and stables. “Come on, we need to get me in armor for the jousting matches.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’re too serious about this. Come on, we’re at a tournament! And we don’t even have to follow Sir Rodney around to make sure he doesn’t drink himself to death-”

“We didn’t do a very good job of that-”

“Besides the point! We can do whatever we want, you realize that?” Merlin is nothing short of ecstatic. Tournaments are sources of endless amusement for him, despite the fact that he’s been around them a solid third of his life. Unfortunately, Lancelot has to burst his bubble.

“Need I remind you that until I win something, we have no money?”

“You are no fun.”

“This isn’t about fun, it’s about-”

“Oh, come on, live a little, there must be something here that interests you beyond jousting and the Knight’s Code.”

“It doesn’t matter if someone interests me, we’re here to-” Lancelot suddenly pulls the horse into a complete stop. Several people run into him, swearing, but he doesn’t notice. Neither does Merlin, who is still talking as he takes in the colorful town. It takes quite a bit to get him to stop talking once he’s started. 

“You’re the one who said we could be free men and do what we wanted, well this free man wants a meat pasty, and not one of the skimpy raw ones that are more carrot than anything, no, I’m talking about a good old slightly burnt size-of-my-head rabbit meat pasty-Lance?” Lancelot still hasn’t moved, despite the riveting conversation. He mumbles something softly as Merlin approaches him. “What’s up with you, you’re going to get run over-”

“Who is that?” Lancelot says quietly, transfixed as he stares towards the arena.

Merlin turns, seeking out the object of Lancelot’s obsession. From where they’re standing on a high road, they have a fine view of the arena to the west. The royal box sits squarely in the middle of the stands, the Pendragon coat of arms plastered all over it. The motif is repeated on the ceremonial armor of King Uther, who seems to be having a very loud conversation with various Lords and Ladies gathered around his throne. The seat to his left is empty, but the seat to his right is occupied by someone rather infamous on the tournament circuit. 

“Do you mean Lady Morgana?” Merlin asks, puzzled. “I thought you’d recognize her, she was at the tournament in Shropshire two years ago, the one who beat half the contestants in the sword match before the King pulled her out.”

“Not her,” Lance does not deem it necessary to elaborate, so Merlin returns his attention to the jousting field. The Lady Morgana is also fixated on the field, staring rather dreamily at a knight in shining silver and iron armor. The knight rides atop a roan gelding, expertly circling the field again and again, hitting the practice targets dead on every time. And if Merlin’s not mistaken, that’s a token wrapped around the man’s upper arm, a token that looks like it has Lady Morgana’s personal crest on it. 

“Oh don’t tell me you’re crushing on a knight  _ Lance _ -”

That accusation seems to snap Lancelot out of his daze. “What? No! I’m not...crushing. But look, his technique is flawless.” The knight destroys another target, smashing it to splinters as he passes. “I’ll have to go up against that!”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“Of course not, but don’t you see? This is why we have to focus! We’re going against professionals here! I don’t even recognize his standard-I DO NOT HAVE A STANDARD.” Lancelot suddenly realizes, slipping into a monotone voice as his eyes take on a glazed look of horror and fear. His face then shifts into an expression that is a strange mixture of determination, righteousness, and fearlessness that scares Merlin more than anything else on the Goddess’ green earth. That face means that they are all going to get into serious trouble if Merlin doesn’t do something  _ now _ . (The last time that face had made an appearance and something had failed to be done, Lancelot had gotten into a fight with a griffin. A  _ griffin _ .)

“OKAY!” Shouting now, because a crisis has to be averted  _ this instant _ , Merlin grabs the horse’s reins and pulls Lancelot away from his view of the arena. “How about you go start getting ready for your matches, and I will go find you something that can serve as a standard-”

“But-”

“I will also find out just who that knight is, and why I, known tournament aficionado-” this wasn’t exaggeration, he used to have a notebook with very-nearly-up-to-date statistics on every participant in the Welsh jousting circuit until Will 'accidentally used it as kindling- “have never seen his standard before. Alright?”

“Alright.” Lancelot grudgingly nudges the horse-they really should name the horse-in the direction of the stables, eyeing every pennant he passes as if looking for inspiration. Merlin gives a useless half wave, his whole body relaxing as disaster has been postponed. Then he walks into the crowd in search of meat pasties.

In Merlin’s defense, he had intended to eventually find out the name of the knight Lance had been ogling. He had also intended to steal a pennant and a piece of charcoal and make a crude standard for Lancelot’s false persona. But really, he was at a tournament.  _ A tournament _ . With music and pasties and not having to follow Sir Rodney around. Excuse him if he wanted to enjoy life a little bit.

The town was absolutely singing with activity. Literally and figuratively, as there were bards and traveling Players mixing in the streets with everyone else. It’s a bit harder to make his way to any particular destination without a horse clearing the path in front of him first, so Merlin just follows the flow of the crowd, moving just fast enough so as to not get jostled too much. 

Lancelot took things too seriously in Merlin’s fine opinion. A world beyond the dream of knighthood did not exist for him, something that sorely needed to be corrected before they all died without having any fun at all courtesy of Lance. Fun like this: a group of children are running from a sweets stall, hands full of stolen goods. A large sweaty man is pursuing them, swearing constantly. Well, he stops swearing once he trips over thin air and falls into a pile of manure. Merlin’s eyes glowing as this occurs is complete coincidence, and if you asked him, hadn’t happened at all.

The warlock in question laughs to himself as he continues on his way, singing along to a dirty song played by a harper. Another few minutes of walking and two more songs of questionable taste land him near the training fields, full of knights preparing for their events. Squires mill around, fetching armor and refreshments, and in one case holding up a target. A small group of knights are watching the man closely, shouting out conflicting directions on where to place the shield and confusing him horribly. As Merlin draws closer, one of the knights begins throwing knives at the target while the squire yelps, eliciting an uproar of laughter to erupt from the rest of the group. 

The squire makes to drop the shield, but the knife-throwing knight speaks, “No, no, you stay right there!” as he threw another knife at the target. Terrified, the squire covers himself with the shield best he can while he tries to run away. “Why are you running?” the knight calls. “Stay still!” Two more knives meet their mark. The squire finally drops the shield, sending it rolling towards the end of the field. Right where Merlin happens to be standing. 

He stops it with his foot, and because he has the survival instincts of an intoxicated chipmunk, he raises his head to look at the knights. “You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

“Do I know you?” The leader drawls, all swagger and annoyance.

“I’m Merlin.” The warlock sticks out his hand, because he has a death wish. 

“So I don’t know you,” a sneer as the leader tosses his blond head. Ponce. 

“No.” Merlin lowers his hand. 

“Yet you called me friend.”

“That was my mistake.”

“Yes, I think so. So, what gives you the right to question how I treat my servants?”

“Nothing except common human decency,”

“Yet it’s still none of your business.”

“I’d stop if I were you.” 

“And who’s going to make me?” The blond looks back to his laughing cronies as Merlin rolls his eyes.

“I will.”

“Oh really? Let’s see you try then!” The knight throws his dagger into the ground and steps forward, spreading his arms wide. “Big man willing to throw a punch?” And that’s the final straw. Merlin isn’t one for fights unless they’re friendly scuffles with Will, but this prat has absolutely no regard for anyone and it would just be so satisfying to punch him in his smug jaw. Merlin shrugs off his jacket as the knights jeer. He steps into what he hopes is a fighting stance and takes his swing. 

The knight catches his fist and in seconds has Merlin’s arm pinned painfully behind his back. Damn. He twists it farther just to hear Merlin yelp. “You can’t do this! Who do you think you are, the king?”

The knight is silent for a moment, and Merlin hopes that maybe, just maybe, the man has a shred of decency and will let him go with a slightly wounded pride. Then he sticks his face in Merlin ear, relishing every syllable of his next sentence. “No, I’m his son, Arthur.”

_ Fuck _ .

  
  
  


“LANCE!” Will can sense the wrongness pervading the small stall Lance has procured next to the arena. 

“What is it now?” Lancelot says distractedly, checking his saddle buckles for what must be the fifth time.

“WHERE. IS. MERLIN?” Does no one else understand the gravity of this situation?

“I’m sure he can take care of himself,” Gwaine is leaning against the arena wall, looking so relaxed that you wouldn’t believe their lives and reputations and dinners were all on the line. Or the lance, to be more exact. Lancelot-as-Galahad was starting his first run in less than five minutes, and one of his squires was missing.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to put my hands around your neck and just keep squeezing-”

“At least buy me dinner first.”

“OH SHUT UP! Do you not understand what kind of danger we’re all in right now?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“We are about to send a phony knight into the arena with nothing but a prayer that he doesn’t get caught, which is bad enough already, but now said knight has lost our idiot warlock who doesn’t know the meaning of the word secrecy and who is extremely likely to do something extremely stupid the minute he’s left alone.”

“All he was going to do was find out the name of one of the competing knights!” Lancelot makes a mediocre attempt to defend himself. 

“Have you already forgotten about Caerleon?” 

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“What happened at Caerleon?” Gwaine asks, now slightly interested in something besides the dresses of passing ladies. 

“Long story,” Will waves his hand as he helps Lancelot into the last of the armor. “There was a roast pig and a serving woman and some noble almost got poisoned…Merlin almost died. Twice. Within an hour.”

“How are you buffoons still alive?”

“Hell if I know, mate.”

Trumpets begin to sound from the arena, announcing the beginning of the matches. “Showtime!” Lancelot slams down the visor to his helmet-far too confidently in Will’s opinion-and climbs onto the horse. Momentarily putting aside his worry for Merlin in favor of worrying about whether the king would run through a bunch of frauds right there on the arena floor, Will follows him out into the sun. 

The crowd is deafening, all in high spirits as Lancelot’s opponent finishes his circle of the field. “-his Grace the Duke of Normandy!” The man’s squire shouts. The duke brandishes his red lance as another squire displays his standard, two yellow lions on a red banner. Based on the number of spectators holding miniature versions of the flag, it’s obvious the duke is a crowd favorite. 

All cheering comes to a stop as suddenly all eyes are fixed on the motley crew standing at the far end of the arena. Oh this is not good, what on earth have they already done wrong? Sure, they don’t have a proper banner, but they’d repainted Sir Rodney’s old armor to create a fake crest. Bronze griffin on a green background, Lancelot certainly looked like he could be the son of a lord. What had they done wrong?

The King stands in the royal box.  _ Oh shit oh shit oh shit _ . “The name of your champion!” He demands. “With haste, if you will!”

Oh, right. Announcing Lancelot under a fake name. Will could do this. He could do this. He’d been practicing after all. Better yet, Merlin wasn’t here to roll his eyes the whole time. He could do this. Here goes everything. Will steps forward, extremely conscious of every single sword, lance, dagger, and sharp meat skewer within his field of vision. Gwaine is looking at him like he’s mad. “ _ What are you doing, you bumpkin?”  _ He whispers, and that is enough of that! Watch what a bumpkin can do.

“MY LORDS!” He begins, spreading his arms wide and projecting his voice as far he can. “MY LADIES!” He jumps onto the rail dividing the jousting lanes, winking at the noble women clustered near the royal box. “AND EVERYONE ELSE HERE NOT SITTING ON A CUSHION!” Hey, if they’re going to get caught, might as well have some fun before the ax comes down. He can hear Lancelot’s quiet groan of pain, the one that implies his friends are incredibly stupid. Stick in the mud. “TODAY, today, you are equals! For I have the pride, nay, the pleasure,  _ nay _ , the  _ privilege _ , to present to you a knight, sired by knights! A knight who can trace his lineage back to the great Charlemange himself!” The crowd is rapt at the sheer audacity of this little speech. Will grins, because he’s just getting started. 

“When I first met him, he was holding vigil atop the highest of the Swiss Alps, pleading for forgiveness from his God for the Saxon blood spilt by his sword! Next, he amazed me still further in Italy, when in our travels, he protected an orphaned beauty from the horrendous intentions of a boorish slave trader! This is a man who once spent an entire year in a cave, in dead silence, just so he could better understand….the sound, of a  _ whisper _ ! So it is with no more gilding of the lily and no more ado that I present to you the hero of Northumbria, the defender of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, SIR GALAHAD!” 

Lancelot takes his lap around the arena, raising his lance to the audience as Will retreats to the side. Gwaine claps him on the back. “I knew you had to have some audacity in you! That was quite the show, my friend!”

“See what a bumpkin can do?” Will is extremely smug, which his mother says is a sin, but who cares when you feel this amazing?

“You have this rogue’s respect.” 

“Not worth much, you can keep it.” Gwaine laughs even louder at that before trying to trap Will in a headlock. They both snap to attention when Lancelot comes back around. Will can’t see his face beneath the helmet, but he’s willing to bet that Lancelot is making the face that reminds him far too much of his mother scolding him. 

“ _ What was that? _ ” Lancelot whispers furiously as he guides the horse into position for the first round.

“He made you interesting!” Gwaine defends Will. “You just went from being a first-time nobody to the star of every rumor that’s going to pass through this town tonight. If I were you, I’d be thanking him!”

“Will, you were the one who was so worried about being caught, what if I lose and the king starts wondering why this supposed glorious knight lost a first-round jousting match?”

“Don’t lose then! GO, GO!” The flag in the center of the arena drops, and the Duke of Normandy begins racing towards Lancelot’s end of the arena. Lancelot spurs his horse into action, lowering his lance even as he lets loose a few choice swear words meant for Will. The Duke is no match for the sheer force of Lancelot’s annoyance, and when the green lance hits true, he goes tumbling to the ground.

The arena is dead silent as Lancelot takes his victory lap. Then all at once the audience begins screaming, “GAL-A-HAD! GAL-A-HAD! GAL-A-HAD!” Will can’t believe it, he was sure they were going to die. But no, they were all still alive, Lancelot had won his first match in a single go, and the audience loved him. This mad scheme might actually work. 

Then a knight in armor of black iron and silver steel enters the arena, followed by several young women holding standards and spare lances. In the royal box, the Lady Morgana jumps to her feet, waving a pennant matching the knight’s banner; a golden hammer crossed with a silver anvil on a black background. “Hurrah for Sir Elyan!” She cries, a cheer echoed by the rest of the audience.

“Fickle crowd,” Will mutters. “Who’s this ponce?”

“Really, do you live under a rock? Sir Elyan and Lady Morgana are the biggest gossip story on this side of the Channel!” 

“Not all of us spend all their free time in bars and gossip mills, Gwaine.”

“Long story short, Elyan is a common blacksmith who the Lady is infatuated with. She knighted him last year, but the King still won’t let them get married because of his birth. Morgana refuses to acknowledge any other suitors however, which is a terrible idea in my opinion because Elyan’s never even taken off his helmet in public. He could be horribly ugly for all she knows!”

“Why is any of this relevant to us?”

“Sir Elyan’s other interesting quality, beyond being hopelessly mysterious and making a Lady previously thought to only be interested in women fall in love with him, is the fact that he’s never lost a match.”

“So we’re sending Lance against an undefeated champion in his second round.”

“If it makes you feel better, because he won his first match he can’t be eliminated when he loses. And if he wins all his other matches he can still get second place.”

“NOT IF HE LITERALLY DIES.”

“He probably won’t die-”

“Great, Lance is going to die, Merlin’s missing, so my only friend in the world is you-”

“So we’re friends now?”

“No!”

A loud crash from the center of the arena draws their attention back to Lancelot, who is now dangling from his horse after Sir Elyan delivered a hard blow to his chest. His borrowed plate armor now has a mighty dent in it, and Will winces in sympathy. Then he groans aloud, realizing that Lancelot is going to have to fight the rest of his matches with damaged armor. This day could not get any worse-

“Excuse me-”

“What do you want?” Gwaine snaps at the newly appeared squire in Pendragon red livery. Oh great, they’ve been found out already. 

“Are you the servants of Sir Galahad?”

“Yes…..”

“Your fellow, a man calling himself Merlin, has been placed in the stocks by order of the Crown Prince.”  _ Fan-fucking-tastic. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon  
Hope you like it!


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